


Breaking Point

by Lordmomo1919



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Friends to Lovers, It is such a quiet thing to fall, Multiple Perspectives, Multiple ships, Police Brutality, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7895296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordmomo1919/pseuds/Lordmomo1919
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overwatch is back but for how long? It's been months now and the newly reformed Overwatch is struggling at every turn. Lacking in money, manpower, legitimacy and most importantly, unity, Winston's dream of Overwatch once again making a difference in a world gone mad threatens to die in its infancy as problems and failures pile up and old wounds reopen and new ones are inflicted.</p><p>Overwatch is at its breaking point, tip toeing on the edge of falling apart and Lena "Tracer" Oxton is feeling the effects of it all far more deeply than she is letting on. </p><p>In the wake of Mondatta's death, tensions between the human and omnic population of Tracer's home Kings Row are at all time high and threating to boil over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If ever there were an ambitious first fanfic, this is it. Slow burn Widowtracer with plenty of other ships in the meantime as well as an overarching plot and a bunch of smaller subplots as well, I hope you enjoy.

Lena “Tracer” Oxton was tired. Not the, oh I didn’t sleep very wall last night and am in constant battle with my eyelids to not pass out where I’m standing kind of tired more the, every sinew in my body, every bone aches, kind of tired. The, I’ve just spent the last thirteen hours running, jumping, flipping, dodging bullets and explosions, leaping back and forth through time and killing my fellow human beings, kind of tired.

Her body was a wreck, the aching made it hurt to move and she was utterly exhausted. No permanent damage of course, Tracer was too quick and Mercy was far too much a medical miracle worker for that but, alas, Mercy could stop exhaustion and fatigue as much as she could the constant, ever present cascade of invasive thoughts in Tracer’s head, the flashes of memory and the sick, twisting feeling in her stomach.

Pulse munitions were a funny thing see, the earliest weapons to utilise the technology were actually significantly less dangerous than bullets, they’d slam into their targets at insane velocity and burn like a cigarette pressed to a disobedient child’s wrist, painful as all hell Tracer was sure but rarely fatal unless applied in excess and the wounds wouldn’t bleed either, all the injuries would just self cauterised. Still, sent a shiver up Tracer’s spine to think that those early pulse weapons had been used for riot suppression more often than not back then.

Tracer’s weapons, her fully automatic pulse pistols which were currently lying dormant in their gauntlet holster resting on the kitchen table the next room over, however, were very much off a different breed. Higher muzzle velocity than most any other weapons on the market and unlike early pulse weapons powerful and hot enough to melt through flesh and carbonise bone.

Talon’s agents wore good armour, heavy duty kevlar, alloyed titanium plates and some of the bigger, heavier suits even had ceramic plates to nullify explosions the stuff honestly made most of the worlds militaries standard equipment look downright bad. But to weapons like Tracer’s? It didn’t matter, get anything hot enough and it’ll melt and so would anything under it. Talon’s fancy armour was no different. 

Nor were the men and women underneath it.

Tracer had to wonder how much they got paid to be as fearless as they were, they’d move in completely in sync, manoeuvres solid, weapons up, only to find Tracer, all smiles and giddy laughter a few feet behind them unleashing a torrent of high speed death into their surely very shocked faces, hard to tell behind those masks they all wore and Tracer rarely missed, she was after all a good shot.

That had gone on for hours and hours on end today, Talon’s forces would move in, Zarya and Winston would hold the front, Ana (God above was it good to have the Cap back, Tracer had missed her) would be sitting pretty up in the back darting as many as she could and keeping everyone at their best, Mercy would be in front of Ana behind Winston and Zarya keeping everyone alive while she was bodyguarded by Ja – Soldier 76 and while that was all going on, Tracer darted around covering her friends flanks and flanking the enemy.

She’d thought they’d give up after the second maybe third attempt but they hadn’t. They just kept coming and coming and Tracer just kept firing and firing and firing and by the end of their thirteen hour extravaganza Tracer had racked up the highest body count for the day.

Why hadn’t they just stopped? Had Talon wanted that data so bad they’d have sacrificed nearly sixty soldiers to get it? How many people did Talon have if they could just piss away sixty able bodied fighters? Reaper couldn’t have been running that op, Gabriel Reyes was a better commander than that and as hell bent on his “day of reckoning” and revenge as he was he wasn’t stupid enough to think just throwing team after team after team into a slaughterhouse was somehow the correct strategy, he just wouldn’t and he certainly wouldn’t have done it without popping up in a puff of smoke to try and take 76 and Ana off his damnable list.

Tracer sighed heavily from her position on her bed, laying on her back staring at the ceiling with her arms spread wide. She’d joined Overwatch all those years ago to help people, to be a hero in a world so desperately in need of them, she’d kept up that good fight on her own when Overwatch collapsed for the same reasons and she’d been the first to answer Winston’s call to bring Overwatch back a few months earlier for those same reasons once again, to do what was right, to help people. That was all Tracer wanted to do, to make the world better, to help.

Today hadn’t felt like helping people.

Today had been a slaughter in an abandoned Overwatch research lab hidden somewhere deep in Lithuania. Sure that data they stopped Talon from getting probably helped people somewhere in the greater scheme of things at least, that’s what she assumed, ole’76 hadn’t exactly been forthcoming on details on what exactly Talon had been after and why it was so vital they stop them. Instead of feeling like helping today had just felt like pointless violence, like Winston’s vision of a remade Overwatch making the world a better place getting hijacked (Heh, pun) by Jack and Gabriel’s petty game of revenge and counter revenge. A feeling Tracer was encountering more and more often these days.

Why was this all so hard now? Was there really that much bad blood tied up with the Overwatch name, so many scars and old wounds that the rebuilt Overwatch was struggling to preform its most basic function of helping people? 

Had everything really changed that much?

Before, when Overwatch was internationally recognised and funded it at all been so simple but now? They were a group of unlawful vigilantes taking the law into their own hands at best or at worst, a privately funded terrorist organisation made up of has-beens and wannabes longing for glory days long since past.

Tracer hated feeling this way, hating thinking like she was thinking but ever since what had happened to Mondatta and everything since, she couldn’t stop. Being a hero was so tied up with her sense of self that if she couldn’t even do that … who was she? What was she?

Ugh, maybe Mercy was right, maybe she should see a shrink or something. Maybe it would finally get Angela off her back, she’d been nagging Tracer about it ever since her … incident, years ago.

Tracer sighed a second time, her mind made up. Her body wanted it, in fact was practically begging for it but, her mind had said a definite no and was adamant on its position so, there would be no sleep till Hammersmith for this East Ender. 

Pushing herself up off the comfy bed Tracer stumbled her way across her room (She really ought to clean it, she thought as she stepped over piles of crumpled and discarded clothes) and made her way to the kitchen where a pile of uncleaned dishes had been slowly stacking ever higher in the sink (She must get round to that too). 

Whistling a tune she made her way to the cupboard below the sink and to the right and opened it a grin spreading across her face. Cup Noodles. Dozen and dozens of cups all still nicely sealed up and ready to eat.

Tracer grabbed two out (Leave her alone she’s a growing girl.), made sure the kettle on the bench to the left of the sink had enough water and tapped the button.

Tracer’s apartment wasn’t much. Six stories up, the front door opened into the kitchen (So the first thing you would see upon entering was dirty dishes, somehow Tracer thought that appropriate) which was small, to your left was the even smaller lounge room. To your right from the front door was the tiny bedroom which had a door opposite to the one you used to get in to the room which lead to the bathroom/shower/laundry. 

It was small, it was messy, the paint job could use work, there were no windows in the bedroom and the only nice thing in it was the expensive kettle which had already finished boiling the water for Tracer’s prized cup noodles, she pulled the lid back to half way and pored the boiling water.

Tracer grinned, her apartment was crap, her “job” dangerous and fiscally (And increasingly spiritually) unrewarding but hey, the view from the balcony (which was minuscule, standing room for one only) was nice and she had a you beaut kettle that could boil her up some water for cup noodles right quick so, maybe life wasn’t so bad after all yeah?

Two delicious cups of chicken flavoured cup noodles later and Tracer decided to make her way over to the lounge room and collapse on the couch.

The couch was an ancient leather thing, older than Tracer herself was actually and it was one of the comfiest things in the known universe. In fact it functioned less as a couch and more of a second bed, hence why she kept a blanket on it which she snuggled under with a yawn. Maybe now that she had something hot in her stomach she could finally sleep? 

Deciding she needed some background noise to lull her into unconsciousness she reached down and picked the TV remote up from where it was lying on the floor next to the couch and got to channel flicking. 

Now, let’s see whats on, weird late night music program, twenty four hour news, reruns of a trashy reality tv show she’d already watched and oh would you look at that? A live fortune telling show where people called up and talked to the tv psychic about their future, this oughta be good for a laugh. 

And it was for a good twenty minutes before it cut to an ad break wherein the first ad that came up was for a phone sex line that would link you up with only the hottest french babes. Tracer slammed the off button and tossed the remote across the room, fucking TV was taunting her.

Tracer made a fart noise and pouted. Maybe background noise was a bad idea, maybe all she needed was some peace and quiet and to close her eyes.

It was working too, she could feel the curtain of sleep closing over her until it was roughly pulled back by a loud bang and a shout, followed in quick succession by a scream and a gunshot.

With a loud swear Tracer flung herself out of bed and sprinted towards the table in her kitchen. She snatched the gauntlets containing her weapons up off the table and quickly attached them to her arms before leaping into her bedroom, shoving her feet into the nearest pair of slippers and picking up the rest of her chronal accelerator off its resting place on her bedroom wall and quickly clicking it over torso. 

The implant in Tracer’s chest, ever glowing with its fantastic blue light is what kept her anchored in time but without the rest of the harness she couldn’t do any of her fancy time travelling tricks.

Not fifteen seconds after the gunshot Tracer was on her balcony and leaping off towards whatever trouble had presented itself this evening. 

She almost laughed, what a sight she must have made, in her slippers, pastel pink underwear and her way too big white tee shirt charging with purpose towards a near by alley where she could hear the sounds of violence, laughter and something heavy slamming against steel just around the corner.

She spun round the corner, her weapons up and shouted “Oi! Whats going on here?!” 

To her shock, she saw three police officers, two male one female standing over a pair of omnics. One was dead, high caliber pistol round to the back of the head, execution style and the other was severely dented and beaten, the batons in the officers hands too blame.

“Nothings going on ma’am just ah, dealing with some dangerous omnics you see.” Drawled the female officer, twirling her handgun still smoking from the shot it had fired.

“Yeah,” chimed in one of the men while his buddy laughed “It’s all in self defence see? Can’t trust these damned machines, specially not in a dark alley.” 

“You’d best head home miss, before we decide to arrest you too for threatening officers of the law.” Said the third, done laughing and motioning with his baton to the weapons in Tracer’s hands.

Tracer’s stomach knotted. Police Officers.

This … limited, her options.

Far as she could tell, she had three. Option one, she turned around and walked away, saw nothing, heard nothing, caused no further trouble and let these pathetic excuses for officers of the law get away with their double homicide hate crime. Tracer safely ruled that one out, there was no way in hell she turned on back on this.

Option two, she non-lethally subdued the officers, got the wounded omnic to safety and made it up from there.

Option three, she killed the officers, assured the omnics safety and then worked out what the hell to do with three dead cops.

Part of her was really feeling the third option, the cocky, self-assurance in the eyes of the officers made Tracer’s blood boil. How dare they! How could they? 

“Hey!” Shouted the female officer, levelling her pistol at the beaten omnics face and effectively stopping the clock on Tracer’s thinking time “Leave now or you’re next, hero.”

When Tracer failed to move, the other two made for their pistols. Tracer made up her mind.

Her pistols retracted to her gauntlet holsters she blinked, faster than any of the officers could comprehend behind the female officer, curled her fist into a ball and slammed it into the other woman’s throat.

The officer dropped her weapon and fell to the ground retching and coughing hard.

The other two hard barely turned around before Tracer had blinked back behind them as well. She kicked the left officer in the lower back as hard as she could sending him tumbling forward landing right on top of his comrade, who was still grasping desperately at her throat.

The third officer no panicking took a shot but Tracer ducked to the right and dodged it like it was child’s play. Which it sort of was, she’d fought and killed better not a few hours ago.

From her position to his lower right she reached up with her left hand and grabbed his right wrist twisting it outwards and squeezing as pulling herself closer towards him adding to the momentum of her right fist which smashed into his throat with ruthless force.

His weapon hit the floor and he fell to his knees where Tracer kneed him hard in the face breaking his nose. She grabbed his now disarmed right arm with both hands and spun him once hurling him directly into the second officer who had just regained his foot smashing them both into the alleys brick wall.

Tracer sprinted forward and leapt, turning side ways in the air she drop kicked both officers in the head, crushing their skulls between her feet and the hard brick.

Using their heads has a spring board she flipped backwards making two full rotations before landing perfectly in between the shoulders of the female officer who had been getting close to recovery. Not any more.

The two male officers were knocked out, probably concussed as well and the female was writhing beneath Tracer’s boots.

Or well, her fluffy slippers anyway.

Tracer stepped off the other woman before rolling her over with her foot. Her eyes were blood shot for lack of air and she looked to be in serious pain. 

Tracer couldn’t find it in her heart to feel very sorry for her. 

Tracer crouched down over the officer and curled her fist slamming it in a hard right hook to the woman’s jaw, knocking the officer out cold.

She stayed over the other woman for just a moment, watching, making sure she was down for the count before leaping into or, blinking into action and appearing beside the injured omnic.

The poor thing was battered, deep dents covered most of its body and electrical sparks spurted out of its neck at random intervals.

“Love?” Tracer started, resting her hand gently on the omnic’s knee “Can you hear me? Do you have a name?”

The response came after a seconds delay, the omnic’s head twitched and the damage to its body gave its voice a terrifying electronic undercurrent “Z-Zoe,” it stuttered, sparks flying as it spoke “My name is, Zoe. I am a girl.”

Tracer smiled reassuringly, proud of this total stranger for everything she must have struggled through just to come to that simple conclusion “You sure as hell are love, you sure as hell are.” She said softly running a hand down the other woman’s face.

“Now,” Tracer continued keeping her voice mild “We need to call the police and report th-“ 

“No!” Zoe said, her hand suddenly clasping on Tracer’s arm like vice “N-No more p-p-police.”

Tracer met Zoe’s eyes and put the pain in her arm to the back of her mind, determined to hear the wounded woman out “Alright, alright.” She says nodded “Stupid thing to suggest anyway, don’t want more of them around after … well after this but if not them then who love? Who do you need me to call?”

Tracer was well aware that bring more people to the scene could potentially ruin evidence but right now she didn’t care, she cared about this omnic and what she needed.

Zoe’s entire body shuddered briefly before she continued “M-Mary. Mary Seacole.”

Mary Seacole? Hadn’t Tracer read about that somewhere before? No time, ask Zoe more questions “Mary,” Tracer said smiling and nodded happily “Alright we’ll call Mary.”

It was at this point, Tracer realised a flaw in her brilliant plan. She’d left her phone at home.

She couldn’t stop the nervous laugh that escaped her “Love? Real stupid request but do yo-“

“Have a phone? No, they broke m-mine when they…” Zoe trailed off with a high electric squeal.

“How did you know that’s what I was gonna ask love?” Tracer asked, her momentary befuddlement distracting her from the immediate task.

Zoe managed a shrug “Y-You’re ha- har- hardly dressed.”

Tracer looked down “Oh right.” She blushed “Right well, I guess I need to just quickly-“

“Jennifer might still have hers.” 

It was barely audible, Tracer nearly missed it. She turned her head slowly to look at the second omnic.

The dead omnic.

The murdered omnic.

Jennifer.

Tracer looked back at Zoe, eyes wide, asking permission to do what she dared not ask aloud.

Zoe nodded her approval.

It only took a quick pat down to find the phone in Jennifer’s pocket. Christ alive this was sick, Tracer felt ill as she pulled the phone from Jennifer’s pocket and activated it only to see a picture of Jennifer and Zoe, wrapped in Winter clothes, arms around each other as the lock screen.

With a quick shake of her head, she swiped the image away and tapped the emergency call button “Alright love,” she started, smiling softly at Zoe “You’re doing great now, what’s Mary’s number?”

Despite Zoe’s newly acquired stutter, Tracer soon had the number entered and the phone to her ear as she tapped her foot anxiously and waited for whoever this familiar sounding Mary was to pick up.

The phone rang only a few times before Mary picked it up but as Tracer watched the sparks sputter off Zoe with increasing speed and intensity those few seconds felt like a lifetime.

“Zoe? Couldn’t wait until we saw each other next to tell me all about your date with Jenny hmm?” Came a soft, feminine voice from the phone it’s tone playful and amused.

“Uh no, afraid not love.” Tracer replied “My name is Lena, I’ve got your friend Zoe with me now. She’s hurt, hurt real bad and she didn’t want me to call the police she asked for you.” 

“What happened? Never mind that, where are you?” The playful edge to Mary’s voice was gone.

“In alley in Kings Row, not that far from the omnium actually uh –“

“Turn location services on, I will come straight there.” 

“Right, right on it.” Tracer quickly hurried to the settings section on the phone “Location services, on.”

“Good. Stay with Zoe, I will be there shortly.” And with that, Mary hung up.

Tracer locked the phone before placing it gently next to Zoe “Don’t worry love, Mary’s on her way, just a little longer now.”

Zoe nodded slowly in response and reached her hand out, carefully taking Jennifer’s in her hand.

Tracer turned on her heel to face the three unconscious officers and went about restraining them with their own cuffs, just in case. It was all she could do to keep from exploding while waiting for Mary.

A few more moments pass before three omnic’s of similar height and build round the corner Tracer had come from and make their way towards Zoe.

The first, Tracer assumes, is Mary. She’s wearing a flowery summer dress dotted with flowers and she has a handgun strapped to her thigh.The other two, both wearing white pants, are shouldering assault rifles.

Tracer watches as the trio quickly absorb the situation in front of them, it doesn’t take long for them to work it out.

“Zoe … “ says Mary softly as she kneels down next to the wounded omnic “I will stabilise you.”

Mary’s hand buzzes and whirrs and quickly transforms into some kind of repair tool she goes to work immediately. 

Without looking up from her task Mary addresses Tracer “You human, call the police.” Mary reaches into the pocket of her dress and slides her phone across the ground “It is unlocked.”

Tracer hesitates “Zoe said she didn’t want any officers here.” 

“Certainly not before I arrived.” 

Tracer looked past Mary to Zoe “May I? I need to here you say it love.”

Zoe nods “Yes.”

Tracer nods in reply and taps in the numbers nine, nine, nine. 

“Operator? Yes hello, I need the police asap, I’ve got a murder to report in Kings Row.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second and third chapters! Sorry that their short but I'd rather divide down into smaller chapters than anything else.

The fact that the Kings Row Police Station was abuzz with activity even this early in the morning didn’t surprise Tracer in the least bit. If anything, she found it amusing and couldn’t help the sardonic smile it brought to her lips as she watched busy detectives and beat cops rush about their daily business from her place, nestled on a chair in the far corner. 

Strictly speaking, hell, even loosely speaking, or just speaking at all, Tracer was free to go. She’d answered all the questions required of her, signed the documents she’d needed to and been told to wait until she was called in for “ follow up” whatever that was supposed to mean.

Regardless of what the detective she had spoken to had mean’t by that meaningless platitude, something told Tracer that she’d never receive that call.

Call her crazy.

So why was Tracer still here? Because Mary Seacole, the omnic with the familiar name that try as she might Tracer couldn’t quite place, had asked to speak to her. After that was, Mary had spoken to the two whole, omnic officers in the station.

That had been forty five minutes ago and it looked like their little talk had just wrapped up. The three omnics stood up from the table in the break room across the way they’d commandeered for their chat and Mary was making her way across the station to Trace . Tracer watched her approach like a hawk or more accurately, the officers around her. She watched their eyes, narrow and suspicious as the disarmed Mary made her way across the station. She watched their hands flitter and float down to the handguns holstered at their hips. 

But nothing happened and soon Mary was standing in front of Tracer, shoulders noticeably slumped.

“How was your chat?” Tracer asked, brightly as she could manage, flashing a confident smile. 

Mary shrugged “Disheartening, anxiety inducing, but not at all shocking.” 

Tracer snorted “Seems to be the popular order all over the world these days.” 

Mary simply stared at Tracer quizzically, causing her to go into panic and babble mode.

“This place is exactly as I remember it. Isn’t my first time in this place in the early hours of the morning you know.” Tracer started “Of course, I spent most of my time in there,” she said pointing across the station to the holding cell “and I didn’t hesitate to leave as soon as I was able, no waiting around.” She smiled up at the impassive Mary “I also used to wear a lot more leather and spiky stuff too, less pyjamas oh and my hair was different too! Used to dye it all kinds of colours.”

Upon once again receiving no response, Tracer diverted away from her panicked babbling regarding her less than law abiding past and back to the topic at hand “A-Anyway, what did you want to speak to me about love?”

Mary stared for a moment, right into Tracer’s eyes as if carefully appraising something inside the human in front of her “I wish to discuss your, former, occupation.”

Tracer’s smile faltered for a moment but was quickly back to normal “Ah well love, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about that here, in you know, the lion’s den.”

Mary nodded “Of course. Then let us be off, we can walk and talk.”

Tracer nodded back and stood to follow Mary out the front door. As they left, they were both given their weapons back and Tracer quickly attached her gauntlets to her wrists while Mary slide her handgun into its thigh holster.

They exited the Station and walked in silence for a good thirty yards away from the station before Tracer spoke “You’re sure Zoe is safe?”

“I would not let her leave my sight if I wasn’t. I sent her with Jonathan and Elizabeth, they will be staying with her indefinitely until this ordeal is over.” 

“Those were the two you had with you when you came to me and Zoe last night right?” 

Mary nodded “Correct, two of my best and most loyal.”

“Best and most loyal what?” 

“Party members.”

Tracer titled her head “Hardly seems the time for parties love.” Tracer wasn’t religious but as the words came out of her mouth she sent a quiet prayer to whatever deity may be listening that Mary might find that funny.

Mary did not and if she had human eyes, they would have rolled so far back that she could paint a picture of her brain “Not that kind of party.” She deadpanned, unamused “The Party for the Liberation and Emancipation of Omnics. You might have known us as the Omnic Equality Movement.”

“The second name I recognised, I didn’t know about the name change.” 

This one, Mary did find funny. She laughed, loudly and genuinely amused “How could you have missed it? It’s been all over the news.”

Tracer smirks playfully in reply, a small percentage of the tension in her body uncoiling “Lot of news going around right now love and I’m a busy, world travelling woman.”

If Mary could have, she would’ve smirked right back “I’m sure you are quite busy.”

“You know,” Tracer said deflecting, “The Police might have made like the colonies and started carrying guns but civilian ownership is still heavily policed.”

Mary shrugs “I suppose it is.”

“So, how is it that your party members can shoulder automatic assault weapons at a crime scene and you can carry a handgun on your thigh in a police station?”

Mary snickers “How is it you can carry multiple military grade pulse weapons?”

“I,” Tracer began “Have a very special, very difficult to get permit allowing me to keep these bad girls.” Tracer says knocking her gauntlet together “A permit that omnics are legally barred from getting.”

“Laws only apply to ‘real people’ do they not?” Mary says darkly “Besides, if they were to arrest me or any of my more high ranking party members this,” she motions to the world around them as they hook a corner “tension, the electricity you can feel humming in the air would suddenly turn into a storm.”

A metaphorical lightbulb went off in Tracer’s head went off “Nightingale. You’re Nightingale. Leader of the Equality movement.”

Mary laughed once again “Formerly. When the Movement was the still the Movement not the Party and I was a less educated woman.”

Tracer raised an eyebrow “What do you mean love?”

“Florence Nightingale was a hero to the British during the Crimean War centuries ago. They called her the Lady of the Lamp.” Says Mary.

Tracer nods “I know this bit, she’s where you got your name right? Or your old name anyway.”

“Yes. She was credited with saving thousands of lives at her famous Scutari Hospital and she returned home a hero to the people who christened her, The Lady of the Lamp.”

Tracer nods again “A heroic story, that’s why you took the name. So why change it?”

“Because, Lena, it is a lie. Florence Nightingale was a strict, harsh woman and a terrible nurse. More patients died under her care than survived, she was simply adept at management and publicity. A Sanitary Commission, not organised by her, effected the changes that would save lives not her.”

Tracer recoiled, visibly taken aback “I, I didn’t know that.” 

“I only found out recently, just as me and my fellow Party members elected to transform the Equality Movement into the Liberation Party.”

“To go with name change of your organisation? Fair enough. But why Mary Seacole? And why do I still sorta kinda recognise that name?”

“Because, Mary Seacole was another, much more real hero in the Crimean War. A woman from Jamaica who traveled of her own free will, independently to the front lines of war to care for the wounded with herbal medicine, provide them food and shelter in her ‘British Hotel’ and to make a difference.” Mary pauses and collects herself “The Movement wasn’t doing anything, our message, Mondatta’s message either wasn’t being heard or was being ignored. What happened to him proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.” Mary’s voice trailed away and softened “I was the one who organised his visit here, did you know that?”

Tracer looked away from Mary, guilt welling up inside her like boiling water,unable to bear the sound of Mary’s heartbroken voice “I’m sorry. He was a great man I … I did everything I could.” 

Somewhere, far in the back of Tracer’s mind an accented voice whispered, is that true chéri?

Trace shook her head violently and desperately argued back that yes, yes she had done everything.

Mary stared as Tracer shook her head but made no comment “So, we changed name, changed tactics and policy with the intent of actually making a difference. I figured, why not change my name to represent that fact?”

“And so, Nightingale became Mary Seacole.” Tracer replied, having quieted the stupid whisper in her mind.

Mary nods “And so, Nightingale became Mary Seacole.”

A few more moments pass in silence as Tracer leads the pair back towards her home, the siren call of her bed becoming near impossible to resist. 

Mary however, wasn’t finished. When they reached Tracer’s street, Mary shoved her phone into Tracer’s hand.

Is Overwatch really back?

The message sat on the screen, the question mark at the end blinking as if demanding an answer. Tracer stared for a moment at the unsent text that was addressed to no one before adding on to the end of it.

Yes. We are.

She passed it back to Mary.

Can you help us?

Tracer sighed heavily.

I don’t know. We can hardly help ourselves right now and some of our members, new and old are … decidedly anti omnic.

A long, tense gap between additions.

That is most disappointing.

“I agree.” Tracer says, barely managing to contain her frustration behind her gritted teeth “But if there is anything I, personally can do,” Tracer snatches the phone back and quickly adds her phone number to the text “Call me.” And with that, they arrive at the entrance to Tracer’s building.

Mary stares at the number for a moment before nodding, locking the phone and placing it her pocket “Thank you, Miss Oxton. For everything you have and have tried to do. A pleasant sleep to you.”

Tracer laughs to hide her guilty flinch and turns away from Mary to head inside. She was about to say something suitably witty and charming as she and Mary parted ways when something occurred to her “Hey wait,” she says spinning back around and grabbing Mary by the shoulder “The three officers from last night, last I saw they were being shoved into the back of a van, what’s gonna happen to them?”

Mary gives a shrug of her shoulders “I have been assured by Captain Richardson that they ‘will be dealt with to the fullest extent of the law and not to worry.”

Tracer purses her lips “Do you believe him?”

A beat.

“Not for a second.” Mary’s fist curls into a ball “My guess the next we hear of them, they’ll be on paid administrative leave.”

Tracer opens her mouth to say something but before she can, Mary interrupts “Goodbye, Miss Oxton. Rest well.”

Tracer bites her lip “Of course. See you when I see you love.” And with that, Tracer turns and makes her way inside her apartment building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The history of the Crimean War, Florence Nightingale and Mary Seacole are all really fascinating and there are some freat documentries on youtube about them if you wanna look em up I would recomend


	3. Chapter 3

Bed. Was. A. Good. Place.

Tracer was considering that or something similar as the title of her autobiography as she tucked herself in, finally, blissfully, ready to rest after not sleeping for coming up on forty hours.

Tracer’s heavy eyelids fell, her face slacked and the constant tension in her body slackened ever so gently. Within seconds she could feel the sweet embrace of unconsciousness wrap its fingers around her. 

Then her phone rung, loudly and it vibrated atop her bedside table where she’d left it last night.

In that moment, Lena “Tracer” Oxton want to bawl her eyes out. She just wanted some sleep.

She let the phone ring for a little bit while she fought back her tears and composed herself for the coming conversation.

Thanking past Tracer for making sure her phone would ring six times before going to messages, she picked it up on the end of the fifth ring without looking who was on the other side.

“Hiya! It’s TeeRacer what can I do for you?” She chirped brightly despite her teary eyes and frown.

“Ahhh Lena, glad I could reach you!” Came the familiar rolling voice of Winston, the gorilla scientist from the moon Tracer considered to be her brother, his tone happy and relaxed.

Despite everything, Tracer’s lips turned up into a smile and her spirits lifted slightly at the sound of his voice, he sounded so normal and not like he was about to ask her to go on mission “Winston! Great to hear from you love! What’s up?” 

“Not much, not much just wondering if you caught the latest rerun of those old David Attenborough documentaries?” 

Tracer’s smile reverted to a frown, shit. 

“Uh no love, sorry. I totally missed it, was right exhausted last night.” She said, her tone completely unchanged as she leapt out of her bed and she quickly went about getting dressed and equipped.

“Aww that’s too bad really, this weeks episode was all about deep sea creatures and –“ Winston stopped abruptly and Tracer could hear he faint muffled sound of a second voice speaking to him.

“Winston?” She asked concernedly as she pulled herself into her pants “Winston?”

“Sorry Lena, Ana was just updating me, good news for once.”

“Winston love whats going on? Why’d you use the Attenborough code?” It had been years ago that Tracer and Winston had at the time, jokingly, come up with a series of spoken codes wherein mentioning the latest rerun of David Attenborough meant that there was potential danger but the speaker couldn’t directly talk about it. 

“Talon it appears, has gotten sick of our meddling and started attacking some of our agents where they live. Ana was just informing me we finally made contact with Angela, Fareeha was visiting and they made it away.”

Tracer, now dressed in her signature jacket and leggings clipped on her gauntlets and combat harness “Alright and the bad news?”

Winston snorted “That was the bad news, the really bad news is we still can’t contact Lucio or Zenyatta and Genji and-“ he hesitated and sighed heavily, even as separated as they were Tracer could see his body deflate and the tired weariness that had been plaguing him for what seemed like forever roll over him in a wave “Hana was with her family when Talon came. Her Father and youngest sister are going to be fine but – but her mother and brothers … didn’t make it.”

Tracer went very still for a moment, her grip on her phone loosening just a fraction “Oh Hana …” She breathed, voice just above a whisper “How – how’s she taking it?” 

“She’s … Not. But that’s not why I’m calling, Talon’s calling us out, no more pretending, no more staying at home, we’re bringing all Overwatch agents to Gibraltor right away.”

Tracer nodded “Roger, when can I expect a pick up?”

“About that, Dropship One is still badly damaged and Hana’s taken Dropship Two too find Lucio, you’re going to have to get here on your own.”

“Wait Hana’s doing what?!” Tracer shouted, eyes wide and worried “You let her go on mission? After what she’s just been through? Are you insane!?”

“I didn’t let her do anything!” Winston yelled back “She said that she was going to Brazil and we could either help or get out of her way.”

Tracer was damn near in a panic “Winston in the state she could do something reckless and get-“

“Herself hurt or killed?” He sighed “I know, but she’s not alone. 76, Mei, Zarya, Genji and McCree all elected to choose the help option.”

“What about you and Ana?”

“Someone had to stay here a co-ordinate our efforts to get everyone to the Rock safely, otherwise we’d both be out there.”

Tracer made a series of high pitch noises not unlike a tea kettle then sighed “Alright, alright. I just hope she’s safe.”

“She will be, she can handle herself and and, she has back up.”

“Right. So I guess that means I have to get to Gibraltar on my own?”

“Looks like it, can you manage it?” Winston asked the concern in his voice obvious. 

Tracer hesitated “Uh, yeah, yeah I can totally manage it. I know a guy who should be able to get me to the mainland at least easy.”

“That’s … good. Just be careful.” Winston replied, none tok subtle in his dislike of Tracer’s plan “Lena?”

“Yeah love?”

“I’m so glad you’re ok. Now get moving and please, stay safe.”

Tracer smiled, small and soft “I will love, see you soon.”

And with that, Tracer hung up the call shoved her phone in her pocket. She was dressed and equipped for battle now to pack a bag.

Luckily, she was prepared for this moment or at least, one similar too it. Tracer tore open her closest and knelt down, feeling for the latch that opened the hidden compartment. Her home wasn’t big, fancy or clean but she’d had it for a very long time and in that time she made only a few modifications, this being one of them.

The compartment now open she grabbed her Go Bag out from it’s hiding place. She’d put it together years ago, just in case and now it’s time has come. She slung the bag containing several hundred Pounds, a few thousand Euros, some ration packs, a satellite phone, a med kit as well as a few changes of clothes and then she made for the door.

She opened it and was half way into the hall when she hesitated for just a moment and turned around to take in her home. Small, messy and oftentimes lonely, but it was hers. 

The thought that anytime could be the last time she stepped out of her home had occurred to Tracer many times but it had never bothered her before. This time? It was more like an ache in her gut telling her it was a certainty. 

Shaking her head and snapping out of it, she slammed the door hard and made for the window at the end of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More action next chapter and it should be a lot longer, just had to get the set up finished.

**Author's Note:**

> The line "No Sleep Till Hammersmith" is a reference to the classic live album released by Motorhead in 1981. Why Tracer knows that and uses the expression as she does will be explained in story but in all honestly you can blame her Punk and Ultraviolet skins.


End file.
